On the Edge
by Leaper
Summary: An AU in which Dave Karofsky reacted to The Kiss quite differently... And Kurt Hummel finds himself on the roof of McKinley High trying to save a life. Written for Kurtofsky Week on Tumblr.


**Warning: If anything in "On My Way" upset you, you might want to tread lightly here.  
**

_The kiss..._

"... Nothing but a scared little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are..."

_There were many ways David Karofsky could have reacted..._

Kurt didn't register the warm lips against his at first — it was that unexpected. But he quickly became conscious of them, of the hands cupping his cheeks...

_He could have sunk deeper into denial, lashing out in fear and rage..._

When they separated, Karofsky had a pinched, desperate look on his face. He leaned forward for another kiss...

_But there were other ways..._

Kurt staggered back. He and Karofsky stared at each other for a long moment. Then... something broke.

Or perhaps "someone."

A loud, gut-wrenching sob tore out of Karofsky's chest. The locker door clanged as he leaned against it, tears running down his cheeks as his chest heaved with hyperventilated breaths.

Kurt gaped. "K-Karofsky...?"

Karofsky shrieked; Kurt jumped, his back slamming against the rough stone wall. Karofsky's fists pounded the locker doors, sending the entire row rattling. Then his forehead slammed against the cold metal, again and again, the entire room echoing with the harsh sound of hollow impacts mixed with uncontrolled weeping.

"Karofsky!" Kurt gasped in horror. "Karofsky, _stop_!"

Karofsky turned, his eyes red, his face streaked with moisture. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he turned and staggered out of the locker room, nearly tripping over the bench in his haste.

Kurt immediately ran after him. On reflection (and even at the time, somewhat) he realized how foolish he was being. This boy... this _bully_ who'd been making his and his friends' lives miserable since last year... had _assaulted_ him (a melodramatic word for it, perhaps, but Kurt was a bit of a melodramatic person) and now Kurt was actually _chasing after_ him!

But he couldn't help it. The way Karofsky reacted... He was _shattered_. People that broken do stupid things.

Desperate things.

As Kurt rounded a corner, he saw no sign of Karofsky, but barely managed to catch a stairwell door clicking shut. He paused for a moment, trying to remember... That particular stairwell was pretty much like all the others... Except everyone knew that the lock on the door to the roof was broken... Finn had mentioned it once when he was looking for a place for him and Rachel to make out in peace...

_Oh god..._

Kurt sprinted up the stairs two or three at a time, his lungs aching, but he didn't slow down. He couldn't. Finally, at the top of the stairwell, he reached for the door, praying that he was remembering correctly, that Karofsky hadn't gone to another floor...

The door swung open with a slight creak. The roof was covered in tar paper and speckled with bird droppings. On the far side, sitting right on the ledge, was Dave Karofsky. His legs were folded up, touching his knees, his arms wrapped around them in a sitting fetal position. Kurt swallowed. That side of the roof overlooked the main quad... Four uninterrupted stories down to the unyielding concrete below.

Kurt gingerly approached, the late afternoon sun glaring in his eyes. He could hear Karofsky sniffle and gulp, but with the jock's back to him, he didn't even know Kurt was there. Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, wishing that his dad, that Blaine, was there to tell him what to do.

But no. He was alone. There was no time to call or get someone else. Like it or not, he had the horrible feeling that Dave Karofsky's life was in his hands.

The two were just a few feet apart now; Karofsky was still staring out over the quad, his shoulders shaking with convulsive whimpers. Kurt held his breath for a moment; he knew that any sudden moves or sounds could push Karofsky over the edge, whether he wanted to or not. Silently exhaling, he spoke. "Karofsky?" The name was soft, almost whispered; the other boy didn't even give any sign of hearing it. "David?" he said, a little louder.

"Why are you here?" The voice was dull, numb; it worried Kurt even more than any emotion could have, even rage.

"I was worried about you." He paused, having to put his thoughts back into order. "You scared me a little back there."

"Of course I did." Karofsky's voice was now infused with a disgust and self-loathing that further dropped Kurt's stomach. "I fucking kissed you."

"Actually," Kurt said gently, "it was what you did after that scared me." He swallowed. "Why don't you come over here and we can talk? Maybe we can go to the Lima Bean for a cup of coffee," he said, an artificial note of brightness in his voice.

"Great. A coffee date. Perfect for a couple of _faggots_." He spat the last word out like it was poison.

Kurt's brow furrowed. "It wouldn't be a date. I just want to talk..."

"Oh, swell." Karofsky's voice turned acidic. "What're you gonna say? Gonna welcome me into the big gay family?"

"You're not necessarily gay, you know..."

Karofsky's head whirled towards him, bloodshot eyes staring in disbelief and contempt. "I fucking _kissed you_, Hummel!" he snarled. "What the fuck _else_ could that possibly mean?!"

"David, please..."

"Don't call me that! Only my mom calls me that..."

"Okay, then, what do you want me to call you...?"

"My mom, who's been raising funds for my fucking pastor's fucking straight camp, telling everyone she knows about the 'wonderful work' it does turning kids 'to the right path'. And my dad, who just sits there and nods and tells me to pass the fucking pepper and drives her to those fucking fundraisers and he loves her so much and he always takes her side..." His face sank, his forehead tapping against his folded knees.

Kurt's heart seized. He'd just found out more about Dave Karofsky and his life in the past thirty seconds than he'd known in the past four years they'd been acquainted. And none of it was good. "Davi— Dave. You don't have to go to any straight camp."

"Why not? Maybe they can fix me. Maybe..."

"They don't work. Trust me on this: they don't."

Dave looked up, his face tear-streaked and blank. He turned back towards the quad, far below. "Then there really isn't any hope," he said softly.

"No!" Kurt gasped. "Dave, please, listen to me! There's nothing wrong with you! Just come off that ledge and I'll help you..."

"I can't be a faggot!" Dave cried. "I can't! I don't want this! I...!" He beat his fists against the sides of his head. "_Shit_!" he sobbed.

"Dave..." Kurt gingerly took a step towards Dave's hunched form. "I'm a little tired. I'm just going to sit next to you." Another step. Another. "Do you mind?" Dave didn't respond. Holding his breath, Kurt slipped onto the ledge, careful to keep a little distance between them; he had no idea how skittish Dave was at the moment. Trying not to think of how dirty it was on that ledge, he sat down. Kurt glanced over the edge, at the ground far below; he immediately turned away, tamping down the dizziness as best he could.

Instead, he turned towards Dave; the big, rough jock seemed very small, as if he were trying to implode himself or return to the womb. His face was pale in the afternoon sun, his eyes wet and staring.

There were so many ways Kurt could try to approach him... so many more ways he could do completely the wrong thing... Ways that ended with Dave Karofsky laying broken and bloody on the quad. Kurt chased away the mental image and, for the first time, prayed — fervently prayed to a God that he never believed in that he was about to say the right thing. His desperation ran that deep.

"Do... do you remember us meeting in middle school?" Dave whirled on Kurt, startled. "It was seventh grade. They'd just finished building the middle school, so everyone was pretty much new. First day, you were, uh... sitting under a tree near the basketball courts, reading."

"How do you remember that?" Dave whispered.

"Because... I thought you seemed lonely, at first. I remembered how lonely I was when my mom died, so I was kind of sensitive to that kind of thing. But when I approached you, I realized that you weren't lonely at all. You were so buried in that book that you couldn't care less whether anyone was with you." Kurt exhaled. "I wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not. Anyway, I asked about it, and you told me it was... I don't remember anymore. Something about pirates or British sailors, I think? I sat down and you told me all about your favorite parts for... I don't know how long, it felt like hours..." He couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's your point, Hummel?" Dave snapped in impatience. Impatience, not self-loathing or despair. That was a good thing, as far as Kurt was concerned_._

"My point is, I liked that kid. I hardly saw him again after that, and when I did he was... different than I remembered, but I liked him. I thought he was a smart guy. Good." He paused. "Someone who deserved to live a long and full life."

"Maybe he never existed."

"No, just the opposite. I think he always did, no matter how much he tried to hide, and frankly, I blame myself for not seeing or remembering it before." Hell, he actually _hadn't_ remembered until minutes ago, when he needed to. _Funny how stress can focus the mind. _"I think I understand you better now."

"I never forgot," Dave said softly.

"What?"

"You were wearing a red sweater, and a little hat... I didn't know then what it was called, but it was a beret, right? You wore white pants and, like, a man-purse or something..."

Kurt frowned. He couldn't remember wearing that outfit recently... unless... wait... His eyes widened. "You mean... seventh grade...?"

"Remember it like it was yesterday," Dave muttered. "Always have. For reasons. That's why this is all your fault, Hummel." His bitter, ironic laugh squelched Kurt's rising outrage. "You made it so I couldn't deny it... But I could, as long as I never acted on it." He shook his head, looking down at the empty quad. "Now even that's gone."

Kurt felt his pulse racing in his chest. "Dave, I know it feels like the end of the world..."

"Why isn't it? Maybe your dad's happy that you're a fruit, but my mom... my dad..." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "You're right, Hummel. About the straight camps. I've been looking them up online for a month now, fucking _praying_ that I'd find one that worked. Sure, they say they do, but... I may go to church, but I'm not a moron."

"I never said you were," Kurt said gently.

"Just 'assistant manager at a rendering plant' dumb, right?" Dave laughed at Kurt's stricken face. "Oh, don't get your panties in a twist, Hummel, you were right." The good cheer slid off his face like raindrops on a windowpane. "If I were smart, I would've made some friends outside the fucking locker room." He unfolded himself, his legs now dangling over the edge of the rooftop. Kurt's chest felt like ice. "I would've talked to my brother while he was still living at home — maybe he would've understood. I would've..." Dave's face set like stone. "Fuck this shit." He rested his hands onto the ledge.

Kurt let out a strangled gasp. "David Karofsky, if you jump, I'll go to your funeral and tell everyone that we had sex!"

It was, Kurt had to admit, not his finest hour. In fact, it was one of the stupidest, most ill-conceived things he could've said. But Dave wasn't the only panicked, desperate young man on that rooftop.

And if there was one thing Kurt knew instinctively, it was the horror of the closeted. Dave stared at him, pale. "Don't you fucking dare," he rasped.

_Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. _"Why not? You think this'll fix anything? You think this'll keep your secret from your parents? Well, it won't! I'll put it on Facebook and Twitter and every social media site I can think of! Death won't solve your problem, Dave, I'll make sure of it! So you might as well keep living!"

"At least then I won't have to see any of it!" He turned back towards the ground beneath them. "I won't have to see my mom cry and my dad shake his head like he always does when he's disappointed and why the fuck couldn't I be straight like I was supposed to?" The tears were returning; Kurt scooted closer, just in case he had to make a grab (although he knew, with cold hard certainty, that trying would most likely pull both of them over the edge... but he knew with that same cold hard certainty that he'd still try). "And now I've got no one and I'm all alone and everyone would just be better off if I—"

"Alone?" Kurt tried to put as much offense as possible into his voice. "I'll have you know that I'm quite a bit more than 'no one.' You think I've been sitting up here listening to you for my health?"

Dave returned his gaze to Kurt, confusion shining through even through the tears. "What the fuck are you—"

"I know everyone thinks that they're the only people who've ever had their problems, but really, Dave." He shook his head, even as a plan started forming in his mind. He shifted even closer to Dave, who in his shock, didn't even seem to register the motion. "I've always wanted to be a gay mentor; you think I'm going to waste this opportunity?" His tone was lighthearted, anything to keep Dave's mind away from despair and fear and hopelessness...

"What the fuck are you—"

"You already said that." Taking the risk, he gently patted Dave's arm; he could feel the muscles underneath the jacket sleeve tremble, but they otherwise didn't move. "And apparently, I'll have to make myself clear: you're not alone, Dave. You never were. I'm sorry I didn't hear your cries for help before, but now I have. And I'm going to help you."

Dave snorted. "Yeah, right, I _see_ what you go through every day. I've _done_ a lot of it." His face fell, and he looked back down at the goddamn ground. "What could you do?"

"I'm not saying you have to come out," Kurt said firmly. "I'm saying you need a friend, a real friend, someone you can talk to about your feelings, and I'm going to be that person. Do you seriously think I wouldn't understand what you're going through? I know you're smarter than that." His hand gently slid down Dave's arm. "We could talk to Ms. Pillsbury together when you're ready. You know she won't say anything, not even to your parents — she'd be fired if she did. But if you're not..." Kurt added hastily, "then I don't mind if it's just me. And I'll be there whenever you need me, Dave; I swear I will."

"Why?" The tears were back. "You hate me."

"No, I hate what you did, to me and my friends. That's different from hating _you_. Especially since, as I said, I think I understand you better." Even more prayers running through his head, Kurt let his hand rest over Dave's. He was shaking like a leaf, but otherwise didn't move.

"I'm not like you." He sucked in snot through his nose loudly, a sound that would've disgusted Kurt under any other circumstance; at the moment, though, he had bigger things to worry about. "I'm not all swishy and out and..." He swallowed. "Brave..."

Kurt felt his face heat a little despite himself. "There are as many kinds of gay men as there are straight," he said. "That's the first thing I'm going to teach you. Then I'm going to teach you that you're not sick, not wrong... That no matter what your mom or your pastor tells you, you don't need to change who you are for _anyone_."

"Yeah, right," Dave sneered, his bravado so obviously forced it was painful. "I don't have to change for the friends who're going to hate me and the mom who's going to either throw me out or ship me off to a camp..."

"No, you don't," Kurt said firmly, "not as long as there are people who'll stand by you for who you are."

"And I suppose that's you."

"I told you I would."

"But not why."

"Because... Because no one deserves to feel the way you do. No one should feel like their life is over at seventeen. I'm not saying I'm happy with what you did to me and my friends, but this is not the way I want it to end." Kurt looked into Dave's eyes (and how had he not noticed how lovely its shades were before? Well, he knew why — he was looking at him without fear, hate, or bias now). "And deep down, I don't think you want it to end this way either."

Dave didn't answer. He just stared down at the quad, his grip on the edge of the roof white-knuckled. "I'm so scared..." he finally whispered. "I'm so fucking scared..."

"I know. I know. But it's a lot less scary when you're not alone. And I swear to you, Dave, I won't let you go this alone. Ever. I want to prove to you that this is a life worth living." Kurt's hand wrapped around Dave's in a warm squeeze. He wasn't sure which of them was trembling, if it wasn't both. "There. Now we're in this together." He let the rest go unspoken: _jump and you'll drag me down with you_. And somehow, for a reason he couldn't articulate even in his own mind, he was _certain_ Dave not only wouldn't do that, but didn't _want_ to do that, no matter how badly he himself wanted to die. "I don't know about you," he said lightly, "but I'm getting a little tired of this roof. Why don't we go inside?"

"I..." Dave stared down at their joined hands.

"Come on." Kurt gave Dave's hand a friendly, gentle tug. "Do you really want to hang out up here? It's going to get very cold very soon. Let's go inside." He stood and tugged again, putting a warm smile on his face. "Come on."

Dave stared at their hands, then up at Kurt, for what seemed like an hour. Finally, painfully, like an arthritic, he got to his feet.

"There you go," Kurt said softly, as if coaxing a frightened kitten out from under a car. "Come on."

Dave stumbled somewhat as he left the ledge; Kurt had never seen anything so beautiful as those sneakers hitting the tar-papered floor. Dave took just two steps before he looked behind him, at the quad stretching out below them. Then his knees seemed to collapse — he sank to the floor, weeping, his hand tightening his grip on Kurt's. Kurt kneeled beside him, gently rubbing his back as Dave's free hand clutched at him.

"Shhh... shhh... It's okay... Everything's going to be okay." Dave's tears were soaking through his shirt, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He did, however, find himself gently rocking the much larger boy, his chin resting in Dave's hair.

"I'm sorry..." Dave whispered hoarsely through his tears. "I'm so fucking sorry, Kurt... I'm sorry I bullied you, I'm sorry I kissed you, I was just so scared..."

"I know, I know..." It wasn't okay; both of them knew that. But somehow Kurt had the feeling that all that would stop now.

He still didn't believe in God, but he still mouthed "thanks" towards the sky... just in case.

Finally, Dave's tears subsided, but he still held onto Kurt for dear life, as if terrified to let go. Kurt let him. It took a long while, but Dave finally let go of Kurt's hand and his shirt, rising to his feet. Kurt rose as well, trying not to wince too much at his wet, wrinkled couture.

Dave wiped his face on the back of his hand; except for his reddened eyes, he now looked reasonably normal. "Now what?"

_That's indeed the question, isn't it? _"Now... we get out of here, go to the Lima Bean, get a hot drink..." _To steady my nerves, because God knows they need it... _"And talk, figure out our next step." He put a smile on his face that was, to his surprise, nearly halfway genuine. "Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky against the world. How's that sound?"

"Yeah." A ghost of a grin passed over Dave's face. "Sounds good."

The next steps were far from easy.

("Ms. Pillsbury? Dave and I need to talk to you.")

They'd be picking up the pieces of that day for a long time to come.

("Geez, Az, I'm getting tired of picking on the fucking Glee Club. They're no fun anymore. Hey, didn't Jacob ben Israel post that story about your cousin Wade...?")

The progress was slow and painful.

("Kurt, I'm concerned you're taking too much on yourself. I'm going to give you and David some LGBT resources; I want you both to take advantage of them.")

But it _was_ progress — the best kind.

("I want to join the Glee Club.")

Kurt was true to his word; he was there whenever Dave needed it... sometimes when he didn't even want it.

("And then Strando called me a fag and... I just... I panicked, Kurt...")

Dave, in turn, ceased to become one of McKinley's hallway terrors. Some wondered at this stranger who wore his skin, not realizing that this was Dave — actually Dave.

("Yeah, I'm good at math. What, Hummel, you surprised?")

There were whispers... A lot of them. Every time Dave felt tempted to do something — anything — to quiet them, he remembered the rooftop, and instead went to Kurt.

("I think... I want to come out, Kurt...")

That day on the rooftop wasn't the last of the tears, not by far.

("How did it go with your parents, Dave? Dave...?")

Though some of them were shed in private, where no one would ever know of them.

("Dave, please don't take this the wrong way. I want to remain your friend, but I... I'm sorry. I can't say yes. I... just don't think it's good for either of us right now.")

But at the same time, there were a lot of reasons to smile, to laugh... to hope.

("So how was your date with Blaine? Of course I'm interested — I'm your friend. C'mon, tell me all about it.")

It would be hard to say which of the two were surprised at how strong their friendship ended up being, considering the way it began... and almost ended before it began.

("You fucking saved my life, Kurt. Not just that day — a hundred times over. I could never repay that... Never.")

And in the end, it not only enriched their lives — it touched others as well. And those lives touched others, and like a wave in the middle of the ocean, it spread.

("Yeah, I'm gay. So fucking what?")

When graduation rolled around, it was a trio that was headed for New York: Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry, and Dave Karofsky. Because Rachel, encouraged by her dads, had been one of the first to give Dave a chance, and liked what she saw.

("Besides, living in the city will be that much cheaper with a third.")

They made plans, even as they realized their whole lives were opening up right in front of their eyes.

("I don't think New York's ready for this much awesome at once.")

But even then they knew that the obstacles weren't over. Not by a long shot.

("You were right all along, Kurt. We... We're better off as friends.")

Life isn't perfect. No one knew that better than them.

("It's everything I dreamed of.")

But in the end...

("Have a good time with Pete, Dave. Make sure you tell me all about it when you get home.")

Even through the rough spots...

("Dave? I think we really need to talk.")

Kurt was absolutely right.

("I'm so happy right now.")

It really was a life worth living.


End file.
